


Don't Send Me Flowers

by OnlyEveryoneCanJudgeMe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Horcrux Hunting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Revenge, Second War with Voldemort, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spy Draco Malfoy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyEveryoneCanJudgeMe/pseuds/OnlyEveryoneCanJudgeMe
Summary: The war is adamant and heartless, they say. It doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait, nor compromise. But most importantly, it’s real.What could one more death in the sea of victims mean? Well, it can bring doubts, question your loyalty, it can change the course of events.Dumbledore died, yet Draco’s mission didn’t turn out as he had hoped and one more life is lost.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Till Death Do Us Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you for opening DSMF!  
> All my thanks belong to two people.  
> My gorgeous sister Eva who introduced me to this wonderful fanfic world, inspires me with many great ideas and what is more, patiently reads everything I write even though she’s not into Dramione at all.  
> And to Seerat, an amazing person from the other side of the world who decided to become my proofreader, provides me with valuable feedback and helps find the right words when I can’t.
> 
> Just a few quick things for the beginning:  
> For now the rating is Mature, however, it might change - in that case I would leave a warning at the beginning of the chapter or change the rating.  
> Since I am not a native speaker, don’t hesitate to let me know if you find any mistakes. Or if you’re good at English grammar, I’d appreciate even some corrector.  
> And finally, a little obligatory disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, created, and owned by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim it, nor any of its characters, and I solemnly swear I do not intend to make any profit of this story. Used parts of the original story (mostly dialogs) will be mentioned in the ending note.
> 
> Alright, so here it is, enjoy! 😊

****

**CHAPTER I**

**Till Death Do Us Apart**   
  


A door closed with a muffled snap and a wizard tardily set out into the silence of a long corridor; the only light shining from the tip of his wand.

He didn’t remember when exactly he stopped considering his own home as a safe place to live, but tonight, this heavy feeling surely reached its peak. His pulse was racing, and every breath was somehow harder to take as if he could feel a strange cold sneaking into his guts and creating a knot.

The mansion appeared much darker and strangely slower than an hour ago. Even the portraits on the walls seemed almost not moving at all, just their eyes were following him.

Even though only one day passed since the moment on the top of the Astronomy Tower, it felt much longer. He knew this memory won’t allow him to have a dreamless night anymore.

Upon reaching the first step of stairwell, he stopped and took a deep breath for another dose of courage. He walked down through the vestibule and with an initial hesitation he pushed the bronze handle on the door.

He appeared in a spacious hall; at the high ceiling, there was levitating a crystal chandelier that was illuminating the whole room when the windows couldn’t because of heavy green curtains. Alongside the walls were standing the Death Eaters responding with a scary enthusiasm to the speech of a man protruding from the mob.

“-the only worthy opponent! The founder and leader of the Order of Phoenix … dead.” Voldemort halted when his eyes met the newcomer. “Draco.”

The wizard stood out of the crowd with several steps into the centre of the hall and kneeled staring at the floor beneath. “My Lord.”

Voldemort turned around and slowly walked towards the window undrawing the hem of the curtain. It took eighteen beats of Draco’s startled heart before he spoke. “I believe there is no doubt why I summoned you here.” He started almost absent-minded, watching the scenery behind the glass. “There are some occurrences of the last night that need to be discussed.”

His voice sounded weak and hoarse. “Occurrences, sir?”

He turned around approaching the young Death Eater again. “You all might remember Draco was entitled with a very special, I would say premium task. Remind us all, Draco, what was it?”

He saw the hem of the Dark Lord’s black gown and bare feet in peripheral vision.

“To kill Dumbledore,” uttered Draco towards the floor.

“Yes, precisely. Draco had the privilege to kill the wizard most of us had wished to defeat,” declared Voldemort as he stopped in front of his head. “And did _you_ kill him, Draco?”

Is this where he was aiming? Draco was thinking over his next words, but then before he could find an answer, the Dark Lord pronounced: “Then you have failed.”

Draco’s head swiftly raised to meet Voldemort’s crimson eyes. “B-but... the mission didn’t! Dumbledore’s dead!” he objected with a shaking voice.

“Not owing to you. Without Severus’ intervention, your precious headmaster would have been still among the living.” Voldemort began walking in slow circles around the kneeling boy.

“Please, believe me, my Lord, I made many attempts-”

“But at the final one, you didn’t do it. Or am I wrong?” After a heavy telling silence, he continued. “I wonder why you have decided to betray my trust. Was it a weakness or disloyalty?”

“No! No, my Lo-”

“Or was it your father who made you disobey my order? He is quite good at disappointing me.” A few Death Eaters gave a laugh.

Draco bit his tongue as he felt a sudden rush of anger pounding on his temples. He remained silent; even if he tried to say anything right now, the fear tied his tongue.

“If I could-” started someone.

“This is not a time for your interference, Severus, I am speaking with Malfoy.”

“I didn’t mean to disappoint you,” said Draco curtly.

“However, you did. It should have been an honour for you to be charged to kill such a powerful wizard. I expected much better from you... What a pity,” remarked Voldemort as he was standing once again in front of him. “You know the conditions. If you fail... You will pay with your life.”

Silence.

Draco wasn’t able to absorb what he heard, he was just gaping at his master with shock and fright. Suddenly there was no room, no other eyes watching, no headache nor pain in his knee caused by rigid stone; just the words floating through his mind. He felt cold sweat on his forehead as they started to form into a sentence. _You will pay with your life._

He didn’t expect this. All day he had been frightened, thinking over this very moment, but wasn’t prepared for this. It can’t be true, this is not how it ends!

“My lord-”

“Haven’t I made myself clear, Severus?!”

Draco was completely petrified, unable to react as his eyes were staring at a raising wand.

“NO!” A male voice stopped Voldemort’s hand.

Lucius Malfoy kneeled beside his son in a wink of an eye. “My lord,” he said. “Please spare my son’s life. There was no act of disloyalty, just a young hesitancy. It was his first mission.”

Voldemort was watching the scene unfold with uncovered interest, sparks glowing in his eyes. “I can’t make any exceptions for your family all the time, Lucius.”

“He is a gifted wizard and will be a great Death Eater if you give him one more chance. Please do not shed young and pure magical blood so easily.”

“The rules must be observed,” he said with a sneer exposing on his mouth. “If you don’t carry out the order under the threat of death, you will have to give your life.”

“Then take mine.”

There was no hesitation, no consideration in Lucius’ voice. It was absolutely clear he meant it. Draco woke up from his stupor. “What... No! You-“

“Would you lay down your life for him?” said Voldemort with lifted eyebrows – if he had some.

“Yes, I would.”

“Father-”

“Shut up, Draco!” hissed Lucius.

Voldemort seemed to be contemplating his offer, measuring them with gleaming red eyes, long fingers stroking his forehead. He looked like he had great fun. “Then I accept.”

Draco stood up immediately. “No! You-” A white flash from Lucius’ wand quietened him. All his body except for his eyes was petrified. He was desperately trying to move out and break the invisible shackles. He _needed_ to intervene. However, his limbs felt like stone.

Lucius kept kneeling, awaiting and accepting his fate. He was staring at Narcissa, looking for something in her eyes, and didn’t look away even when the Dark Lord spoke.

“So, do you accept your son’s punishment? Do you take the blame on yourself in its entirety?”

She was returning his look. For the onlookers she might have been looking cold, affected very little by the current situation.

“Yes, I do.”

But Lucius knew.

“Any last words?” asked Voldemort derisively. Malfoy seemed almost not aware of his presence, still keeping the grievous nonverbal dialogue with his wife. Whatever he was looking for in her eyes, he found it there.

As the seconds skipped without an answer, Voldemort’s impatience intensified, he wasn’t used to being ignored. “Well... As you wish. _Avada Kedavra!”_

A beam of green light hit Lucius’ chest. A lifeless body fell on the ground; eyes wide open, blond hair surrounded his pallid face like a halo which he had never deserved. Every single pair of eyes was fixed on his corpse. There was neither scream nor cry, only an oppressive silence hovering over the room.

“Remember, no good comes of disappointing me. Let this tragic incident be a motivation for you. Do not forget what happens to them who don’t obey.” The Dark Lord turned to the petrified boy. “I hope, Draco, you won’t mind we meet in your mansion now when you are the head of the Malfoy house. And please accept my sincere condolences, both of you.” In his tone there was no sympathy, merely derision. “The session is over.”

Voldemort went over the hall and passed through the opening door. The Death Eaters one by one began to follow their master out of the room. Only one dark figure left; staring at the woman in front of him. Narcissa didn’t need to lift her gaze to know who it was.

“I don’t want to speak with you, Severus,” she said calmly. “Let our family grieve.”

As the door slammed for the last time, a raw widow slowly approached the motionless body of her husband. Suddenly dropping down to her knees, her shoulders started to shake. Quiet tears flowing down her cheeks and falling on Lucius’ gown.

Narcissa gave her son a long telling look. He never saw her like this, so vulnerable. She waved her wand and Draco fell next to her.

* * *

[ _Melody X – Bonaparte_ ](https://youtu.be/BkxH4cnDs90)

Some people are prone to thinking of what they have to do the next day before falling asleep; about their homework, obligations, and tasks. Hermione Granger was definitively that type of person. And that was the cause of why she couldn’t have closed her eyes and let herself carry away by sleep tonight. Here came the day she had been fearful of since Dumbledore’s death.

Hermione was sitting at the desk in her bedroom for hours, her table lamp hadn’t died once during that night. She was writing on an ordinary Muggle letter paper and had to be careful in order not to blur the ink with her tears.

_Dear Grandma,_

_Please forgive me I am not telling you this face to face but believe me this is the best way at the time._

_As we told You many times I and my parents are not allowed to speak much about some things with You or anyone else; my school, some strange incidents that came about when I was a kid, and others. But I know You suspect something._

_Now please listen. This is very important. Do not mention me in front of my parents. It would be best if you don't speak about me at all. My parents will act a bit odd, but don’t worry, everything is fine. They will want to travel, that’s good, let them._

_Fly to Aunt Penny, she will be glad to see you again. I’m not sure what is going to happen... However, trust me it would be better if You are not in Britain for some time. I know this must be hard for You and I am sorry for that and for not explaining also. I know I am asking too much, but this is the best I can do._

_Don’t worry about me, I am going to be fine. Hope to see you soon._

_Love,_

_Your H._

She knew she can’t eliminate all evidence of her existence no matter how hard she tries. She can’t obliviate everyone. Hermione had even considered changing her parents’ names to be sure. But that would mean making fake passports and other documents and it would be skating on pretty thin ice in her opinion. She didn’t want to cause them troubles in the Muggle world, too. And she doubted Death Eaters would read the Muggle records anyway. Leaving the country would be enough.

The fact that her whole closest family will stay out of Europe calmed her; her parents in their long-desired Australia and her grandmother in Utah with her daughter’s family

Hermione’s mother came from Belgium. However, Hermione was sure Death Eaters won’t be interested in this part of her family. They would be in danger only if Voldemort wins the war and a massive Muggle-genocide burst out. No. No, she didn’t want to think of this. It won’t happen.

Two pairs of steps passed by the door to her bedroom, disturbing her from her reverie. She heard her mum’s voice.

“...and if it’s nice weather tomorrow, we could go to-”

“But tomorrow’s the League, honey! I told you,” he objected.

“Oh, Richard… Again? I thought we could make some plans with Hermione till she…”

The stairs squeaked and then the conversation got lost in the podcast when her dad turned on the radio in the kitchen as he did every morning.

Hermione wrote an address on the envelope, stood up, and with a few moves of her wand all her belongings were gathering into an enchanted suitcase. With wet eyes, she was watching how all the evidence of her existence was fading away.

Something brushed Hermione’s leg. She crouched down to stoke a giant ginger tuft of hairs.

“You can’t come with me this time, Crookshanks...” The tuft was purring under her touch. “There is no place for cats in war. Nor even for half-Kneazels.” Crookshanks laid down on his back spurring to more petting; grinning from ear to ear completely indifferent to what Hermione told him.

She straightened up, pointed with her wand on the packed suitcase which immediately vanished and in a second appeared on the threshold of the Weasleys’ house.

“Hermione! Breakfast!” sounded her mother’s voice from the kitchen.

“Coming!” she responded with a heavy heart.

She has to do it. She has to be brave and make them forget. They wouldn’t agree with leaving the country if they knew. This is the best option. The only option.

Hermione looked around a guest’s room; intended to be a room for a child, who unfortunately the Grangers never had a pleasure to have. She suppressed a sudden flurry of memories, took her purse, and set off down the stairs.

Hermione slowly entered the kitchen by the open door. Richard Granger was sitting at the table, brown eyes behind the glasses wiggling from side to side reading newspaper; there was a tiny syrup stain on his shirt which he hadn’t noticed yet. Meanwhile, his wife was making coffee, she was in the bathrobe, her hair was falling from a chaotic bun. For them, it was a perfectly common Saturday morning.

“Would you like your pancakes with jam or-” Mrs. Granger stopped in the middle of the sentence as she turned to see her daughter. Hermione’s eyes were red and swollen, under them circles caused by the sleepless night; her arm raised, a wand aiming at them.

Her dad glanced up and his face froze by consternation. “Her... Hermione. What are you doing?”

“Please forgive me,” she said between her sobs. “But this is the safest option... One day I’ll explain it to you.” At least she hoped so.

They were watching her as if they saw her for the first time; there were a shock and anxiety in their face. Hermione will remember their looks for the rest of her life. And before they could say something, she silenced them with an incantation.

_“Obliviate!”_

She started to replace herself with a void in their minds. Her happiest childhood memories were becoming private possession of married couple. She felt their maternal love slowly leaving, sneaking off from their subconscious.

She had to be perfectly concentrated on her spell. Make two people forget their own daughter at the same time wouldn’t be easy even for more experienced witches then she was. They lived with her for almost eighteen years, they lived _for_ her. However, Hermione was convinced she can manage it.

It took a while but then… it was done. There was no Hermione Granger anymore. Mr and Mrs Granger left unconsciousness; Hermione knew she had a few minutes. Another spell removed her face from photos on a fireplace ledge and her name from a cup on the table. Everything else was already arranged.

The front door shut as the girl without a home set on the street to the closest post box and then Disapparated.

* * *

She wasn’t sure why she opened the door. And she most certainly didn’t know why she knocked on it before she entered.

“Richard?” She called. “Have you been in the guest room recently?”

Mr Granger appeared in the door beside her wife. “Umm… No.”

“The light is on,” she almost whispered.

They watched the lamp on the desk as if they were waiting for something to happen, or at least expecting some explanation of what they were missing. As if they were looking for something they couldn’t see, for something they couldn’t properly grasp in their minds…

Mrs Granger turned off the light.

* * *

[ _Bad Kingdom - May and Robot Koch_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMemllFAw2o&ab_channel=RobotKoch)

Their eyes had already become accustomed to the dim light of the candles placed around the room. There were no windows nor even a visible door. The furniture was too plain in comparison to other chambers of this house – just a simple table and chairs. The next thing that could capture someone’s attention was a library full of apparently old, thick books with weird titles on their spines, often in Latin or Gaelic.

“Concentrate yourself.”

The secret room they call it, the safest place in the Manor. Although some may regard it as paranoia, in this instance it was understandable. If anyone knew what they were doing, the whole family would be probably together once again.

“I think I’ve practised enough for today,” objected Draco. His fatigue wasn’t just mental, but indeed ran through his body. The cold was pervading into his body through his sweaty shirt and his heart was beating twice as fast than usual.

“Enough for the Dark Lord? I think not,” uttered Narcissa as calm as always. “You are foolish if you underestimate his powers. If you want to live, you should practise more.”

 _Yes_ , that was it. He would really like to live. However, imprisoned in his own house, forced to serve a man who murdered his father... Does this have anything in common with living? Compared to his previous life, this was just a silly parody; he had no idea how to face anything like this. Everything was so excellently screwed up.

He had never cared less about the oncoming days, life looked inert from where he stood. After that day he fell into an absolute lethargy. No, he wasn’t _foolish_ , he was completely aware of Voldemort’s Legilimency abilities and his own thoughts which would make him troubles; it was just hard to make himself concerned enough.

And then, there was his mother, mostly level-headed and secretive, inwardly fragile and sensitive though. He felt some kind of responsibility for her, especially when his father’s death was his fault. Well, Narcissa was a greatly talented witch, of course, she didn’t need protection and Draco could hardly be a one for her. But she had no one else anymore, he had to force himself into an activity and pity in privacy.

“Alright, let’s continue then,” sighed Draco with rare unselfishness.

Something formerly similar to a smile curved her lips.

Narcissa Malfoy had a large experience with improving mental skills – she was Black once. In pureblood houses it is a matter of course to teach their children Occlumency – she was given the lessons from her early youth.

But Legilimency is something so different. Protecting your own thoughts is far easier than to force your mind to move into another one. There were just a few wizards who were completely capable of it.

Narcissa knew she couldn’t be measured against the Dark Lord, nevertheless, she was determined to do her best for her only child.

_“Legilimens!”_

She felt his anger, infuriating and maddening anger. A memory full of hatred. _“Assuming that my calculations are correct, I believe that a change of decoration is in order,”_ sounded an echo of a male voice and the memory has gone.

A huge white hippogriff in front of him stood on its back, the hooves just a few inches from his head, and- another memory.

The whole family was together, a chocolate cake with seven candles on its top was cheerfully singing the birthday song.

_„You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team. It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.”_

Narcissa saw a parchment in front of her eyes, a quill in her hand. Boredom, distaste...

Fear... Gleaming red eyes flashed in her mind. Death.

That’s enough. He pushed her harder out of his mind ignoring the blunt ache in his temples and continued despite her resistance until he was in his head alone again.

“You have to be faster. Your reactions are too slow,” observed Narcissa while Draco was breathing out rapidly, his forehead dewy, hardly paying any attention to her commentary.

It had been only two weeks since Dumbledore’s death, thirteen days since Lucius’. It was still too raw; however, Narcissa didn’t wait for any recovery. The very next day she started to give her son lessons how to hide his thoughts – every day for a few hours.

For Draco it naturally wasn’t his first training, he had been learning it even before he had gone to Hogwarts, but never so intensively. It had never been as necessary as these days.

“Ready?” she asked but didn't wait, “ _Legilimens!_ ”

* * *

The dining room of the Burrow was bursting at the seams. There weren’t any free seats left, almost half of the members were sitting on the fitted kitchen or standing. Hermione had never been on such a huge Order meeting, but she recognised all the faces; Arthur with Molly and all of their children – except for Percy, the son who was never discussed anymore, but including Ginny – despite her mother’s objections that she was _too young for war_. Then Bill’s expectant wife Fleur, freshly married Tonks and Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones and in the head of the table was sitting a new leader Alastor Moody.

Hermione stood near to Ron. He gave her a smile but continued in his avid talk with Charlie about some extra-brutal toothless type of dragon which mashes quarries with its palates or something... She wasn’t really listening.

“Is anyone still missing or can we-” began Moody when suddenly Hagrid opened the door and loudly cleared his throat.

“Good evenin’. Sorry if I’m late, ‘lastor... Yer know, troubles,” he shrugged half-apologetic, then crouched and entered the door with the right side of his giant body first.

“Fine, let’s start wi-” This time was Moody’s voice cut off by the sound of shattering porcelain as Hagrid tried to cram his other half into to the kitchen and dropped a mug from the counter.

„Gallopin' Gorgons,” muttered Hagrid towards the floor hastily bending forward to gather the shards, unfortunately too huge to make it at the first… or even the fourth attempt. The nearby chairs were squeaking against the floor as the closest circle was trying to dodge giant’s gawky moves.

The realisation that with Hagrid inside the room felt even smaller was very uncomfortable.

Alastor was observing the scene with burning impatience, hard to say which eye looked madder at the moment until Minerva waved her wand and the shards gathered themselves in a second.

“Alright, can we start or are we waiting for some Death Eaters to join our little meeting, too?” spoke Mad-eye irritated and continued with the same breath. “For openers, some hottest news – cheery as always, hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I do. We can’t trust Huxley Ackerman anymore, he works for Death Eaters. Or maybe he’s under Imperius curse. Don’t ask me how we found out, nothing pleasant.”

Hermione and many others didn’t even know who Huxley Ackerman was. Nonetheless, this type of information was important, too, in case they met these people.

“Then,” continued Alastor, always strict to the point, “Celestia Pye from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ran away, so she won’t help us as we thought with the muggle-borns’ families protection. Kingsley is now working on a plan B.”

“What? Do we know why?” asked Hestia with a deepened wrinkle on her forehead.

“Our source said that Death Eaters had a little chat with her about her blood status and she lost her nerve.”

“Quite understandable,” she nodded sadly.

“That’s what you say. Another titbit is the death of Lucius Malfoy.” A few lifted eyebrows were the only tribute paid to him in this society. The sad truth was that death was nothing so startling on their meetings anymore.

“How? And for what?” intervened Lupin.

“In all probability, it was You-Know-Who by himself. But we don’t know why for sure.”

“However, we know that the Malfoy family has been in disgrace for some time. It could have been lots of things,” observed Kingsley.

“Well,” started George. “If he disposes of his own people, it’s actually good news, heh?”

“Right,” broke in Moody once again. “And now to the main point of today’s agenda – moving Potter. It’s going to be complicated. We’re going to need help. And many volunteers.”

* * *

“Where are they going to hide the boy next?” asked Voldemort and turned to Severus.

“At the home of one of the Order. The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest,” answered Snape, peculiarly prolonging some syllables.

“Well, Yaxley?” called Voldemort. “ _Will_ the Ministry fall by the next Saturday?”

All heads except for one turned to Yaxley.

For Draco was very hard to concentrate. That oppressive coldness connected with Voldemort’s presence made his flesh twist again. The words went out of his mind as easy and fast as they came in. But the worst thing was he couldn’t have stopped glancing at a lifeless woman body revolving upside down above the table.

Charity Burbage was his former professor at Hogwarts. Well, actually, not his, of course, he had never attended any of her lessons by one simple reason – she taught _Muggle studies_ , the most ignominious subject a Slytherin can imagine.

Because of this her little aberration she used to be a constant object of ridicule in their Common room. In school, she was facing contempt from every student who was raised to assess people’s blood status.

However, Draco still felt terribly guilty for her; he could see the last droplets of life slowly dripping off her tortured body and falling on the table with a wet sound. Doesn’t matter who or what she was – he just didn’t like people dying. Let alone killing them by himself. Maybe it was a conscience, maybe a weakness, but it was the reason why he lowered his wand in front of Dumbledore.

Yet the Death accompanied him on his every step, but there was nothing he could do.

The change in the room was so apparent it sent him back to reality. He heard Potter’s name pronounced in Voldemort’s quiet speech. The air became heavier; all apprehensive looks were hanging on his lips. Was it fear?

“...have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.”

Voldemort seemed not to be completely aware of their presence, so immersed in his thoughts; hypnotising the body above.

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”

A long, tormented moan cut in on him. This miserable sound of absolute despair made Draco’s blood run cold as he looked up at the woman.

“Wormtail,” continued Voldemort in the same calm tone, horrifying though. “Have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?”

“Yes, m-my Lord,” stuttered Pettigrew hastily, jumped off the chair and hurried out of the room.

“As I was saying,” he said turning his chalk-white face to his followers. He stood up a slowly began making lazy circles around the table. “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

A shock struck the company around the table like a bolt from the blue.

“No volunteers?”

All the criminals, murderers and traitors turned into a class of jittery children before an examination, everyone looking downwards on their hands or straight ahead, avoiding making eye contact.

He halted. “Draco?”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat as the Dark Lord articulated his name. He closed and in a second reopened his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. “You want my wand.” He said weakly with eyes fixed on the table without question mark behind the sentence.

“Oh no, young boy. I don’t require your wand.” These words soothed him until he realised Voldemort’s voice was too affable to bode well.

“But I assume your father doesn’t need his anymore, does he?” The lipless mouth curved into an ugly sneer.

Draco slowly turned his gaze to Voldemort. A rush of grudge gritted his teeth hard together and clenched the fists so tight his knuckles turned white, boiling blood was bluntly beating in the temples. He didn’t let his father live, not even rest in peace.

“In pureblood families as is ours, it is a tradition to bury wizards with their wands,” he hissed, the words escaped his mouth too fast to realise the consequences. Too late he felt a pressure of his mother’s hand on his thigh trying to calm his temper.

“Who would ever say there is any courage in you...” muttered the Dark Lord. “Consider your words next time before you speak. My patience isn’t endless, and I won’t tolerate your disobedience anymore. Or do you have any more parents to sacrifice?”

Narcissa’s clench tightened. Draco’s stare was fixed on the table, lips transformed into a hard line.

“I want that wand by tomorrow.”

* * *

The first beams of light were cutting through the dusky sky. Morning dew was soaking the hem of his cloak as the grass was rustling under his feet.

He stepped down the stairs, cut his finger with his wand and imprinted the drop of his blood into the cold stone. The wall in front of him made a way and then closed again when he stepped inside.

“ _Ignitus_ ,” he whispered. All the torches flared and shed light on a spacious burial vault of his family. The walls were covered with runic letters which ceased the decay and secured that all the dead in the crypt remained in the same state in which they had passed.

He approached the newest tomb. A simple wave of his wand moved the heavy marble cover and left it levitating beside.

Lucius looked very calm, he seemed to be just sleeping. The colour drained out of his cheeks, but nothing else indicated his death.

“I’m so sorry, father... I really didn’t want to do this.”

He slowly took an elm wand out of Lucius’ limp hand and examined it in his fingers. It felt so wrong to do this. Exhuming his father’s corpse, stealing his wand like some thief. And then obediently bringing it to his murderer’s feet. Such a disgrace!

A first burning tear of anger overflew down to his clenched jaw. “I- I don’t know how yet, but...” he breathed, eyes narrowing onto something very distant. “I will kill him. That’s a promise.”

* * *

“Arthur Weasley! If you eat one more pumpkin cupcake, I swear to Godric I will make the next one out of you!” fussed Mrs Weasley with a flour smudge on her cheek.

“But I- I meant… they are not for breakfast?” said Arthur his transparent lie.

“They are for the guests,” she emphasized every word. “And now everybody out of the kitchen. Woosh!”

It wasn’t even half past eight in the morning and the Burrow was tossed in chaos even more than usual.

The twins aimed for the second most interesting thing in their sight – second after the streusel pies they were circling around like vultures for the last few minutes before they were pushed out of the kitchen door.

“So, when are your bells ringing, hm?” noted Fred towards Harry and Ginny kissing and holding hands.

Harry jumped aside. “What bells?”

George chuckled. “ _What bells?_ Do you hear him, Fred? What bells…” The brothers exchanged a telling look.

“The wedding bells!”

Ginny turned to her brothers. “Bugger off.”

“Who’s gonna be your best man, Harry?” they kept mocking. “I mean, me or George?”

“Err… I-”

“Nevermind, think it through,” he cut him off watching Bill hastily running down the stairs tying his bow tie. “You’re running away already? That will break Fleur’s heart.”

“Have you seen Charlie?” asked Bill ignoring Fred’s comment.

“But we fully support you and understand your decision,” continued George with pretended sympathy.

“If you see him, ask him if has the rings.”

“Sure,” Ginny assured him. “How are you feeling, Bill?”

He looked up from his uneven bowtie and took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m going to get married!” He turned around reaching for the stairs again sending wide smiles in all directions. “I’m going to GET MARRIED!”

Alastor Moody died only two days ago. Laid his life for them, for everything good in this world, for the possible victory. He fought for it till his very last breath. Yet everybody seemed to be avoiding this thought.

This was what these times had brought. Desperately enjoying every minute when the war wasn’t pounding at the door. When they felt as if they were living their ordinary lives again.

But the war doesn’t wait.

* * *

What for Merlin’s sake was going on with Ron? Dancing for the whole evening? With her?

The champagne bubbles were slowly rising to Hermione’s head and she started to feel a bit drunk. As she was stumbling through the crowded dance floor to find Harry, she was wondering if Ron hadn’t been jealous of Viktor. This thought flattered her, she maybe even felt some kind of childish satisfaction.

Finally, she caught a glimpse of her friend sitting on one of the many tables. It took her distracted dizzy mind to realize that this boy with curly ginger hair introduced as Weasleys’ cousin Barry, was indeed Harry using Polyjuice potion.

“I simply can’t dance anymore!” She signed with a giggle as she sat down next to him. She took off her shoe and started to massage her aching foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd. I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been arguing-” During her babbling, she noticed her friend’s distant look and dropped her voice. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry took a breath and drew a flask with unpalatable drink from his robe, forming a reply, but at that very moment, a bright silver lynx landed on the dance floor. Everyone’s eyes met the strange phenomenon, some of them already recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt’s Patronus and jumped to their feet. His deep husky voice spoke:

_“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”_

Two seconds. That was the how long the silence lasted before some woman voice screamed and everyone started to panic. Harry and Hermione were already standing with their wands ready. Everybody was searching for their immediate family and friends.

 _“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”_ The voice repeated.

The first popping of Disapparations echoed.

“Ron! Ron, where are you?!” she shouted as they were forcing their way through the crowd.

_“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”_

Dark cloaked figures with creepy masks began to appear. “Protego!” someone shouted, the lights flying in both directions above their heads.

“Ron! Ron!” cried Hermione on the verge of hysteria. Her head was swiftly turning from side to side looking for the red hair.

Harry grasped her hand tight in order not to lose her in the horrified crowd. And then he saw her – Ginny in her beautiful dress, quite far behind the dance floor, chaotically searching someone with whom she could Disapparate. Harry realised she probably didn’t have her wand.

And then Ron was there. Scrambling through the panicked guests to reach Hermione’s outstretched arm.

A red beam of light hit Ginny’s chest and she fell to the ground.

“GINNY!” Harry screamed and in the last fragment of the second, he released his hold on his friend’s hand. Hermione and Ron Disapparated without him and he broke into a run in Ginny’s direction.

He headed out of the covered area to the meadow where she fell. A loud blast hurled the long table with the rest of the cake and refreshment in his way, landing on its side.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot Harry in his calf. He cried, clutched the hurting spot and looked back at some of the quests fighting the enemy standing with his back to him. He was probably hit by some of his ally by accident.

The tingling was spreading through his left leg until it was completely paralysed. The charm was greedily expanding to his trunk and other leg. He fell alongside the table to the mix of cake, butterbeer and dirt.

With the last cramp he turned on his back. He lied there unable to move, hearing the screams and curses, hearing his friends fighting and watching the endless sky; the dark and the convenient table providing him with a fair hideout.

A while after he felt that familiar gurgling under his skin, as the effect of the Polyjuice potion faded away.

It didn’t take Ron and Hermione more than a minute and a half to Apparate back on the dance floor next to the Burrow.

“Hey! What are you doing here? Leave!” yelled Lupin deflecting curses and sending his ones back in the same direction.

Both of them swiftly joined the battle standing back to back to watch each other. “We’ve lost Harry!”

“Dora!” shouted Lupin when a thundering noise of one of the explosions near them died down. “Take them away and don’t come back.”

“I’m not-”

“Just take them and stay safe for Merlin’s sake!” he insisted but couldn’t afford a single look at his wife at the moment.

“But Harry-” objected Ron.

“I’ll find him,” he said. “Just go!”

As the battle continued with the bravest ones of Phoenix, willing to face the death, and Charlie Weasley’s masked opponent fell to the ground with one of the charms he had never believed he would cast.

He breathed a sigh of relief, holding his palm tight against his blood-soaked shirt on the ribs.

In the spare seconds, before more enemies and curses could find him, he caught sight on Ginny’s motionless body, he quickly jumped to his only sister and then both Disapparated.

“Arthur!” called Lupin. “Arthur, have you seen Harry? Have you seen him?!”

Arthur’s eyes swiftly scanned the surrounding. He saw Xenofilius Lovegood behind the tent, distorted and lifeless. A jumble of tables, remnants of chairs, shattered glass and dishes everywhere. More and more masks turning their attention to them, as one of the last defenders.

“He must have Disaparrated with someone. We have to leave, Remus!”

“But I-”

“He’s not here!”

The noise of the battle faded away as even the last members of the Order vanished.

“Gibbon’s dead.” Reported someone.

Bellatrix removed her mask as the first one. “Oh, champaign!” She grabbed a bottle with unconcealed joy and promenaded around the messed-up floor. “Till Death did them apart!” Her insane laughter echoed on the open space.

“We don’t have much time,” started a man who appeared to be in charge. “Some are injured and the Order might come back with reinforcements. Let’s scour it here quickly.”

The masked figures dispersed over the place looking for both – enemies or allies, dead or alive, and maybe something else.

One Death Eater revoked a stunning spell on another one lying under the band stage.

“Next time I’m gonna kill that fuckin Weasley!” - “Which one?” - “I know just his filthy mug.” - “Yalden’s dead, too!” shouted several voices over each other.

And then there… he was lying. Harry fucking Potter. His body limp, but his eyes… oh yes, the eyes were very alive.

He was lying there, looked almost as if he was just resting or counting stars. As if nothing happened here, as if there wasn’t a dead girl’s body just several yards from him… As if he wasn’t going to die.

He approached him incredulously.

Harry saw a silver mask appear above him, the eyes behind it scrutinizing him hard, staring for long seconds.

He tried to move, desperately forcing his limbs to action, but it felt as if his skin was made of stone. The only thing which seemed to be able to escape from the grasp of the paralysis was his frightened heart furiously beating against his chest – accelerating as the Death Eater’s wand hesitantly raised to his face.

“ _Abscondo_ ,” the man whispered, and Harry’s body blended with the ground.

“Do you have anything, Malfoy?” a strange male voice called.

“No,” Draco blurted out and then cleared his throat. “No, I don’t… Just some rubbish.” He gave a last disgusted look at the place where he knew his least favourite schoolmate was lying and walked away.

 _The Boy Who Lived,_ he thought bitterly. _Lucky fucker…_

[_Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGAKiiUpvJ0&ab_channel=pazzoida00)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4th scene:  
> “Assuming that my calculations are correct, I believe that a change of decoration is in order.” [Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone]  
> „You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team. It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.” [Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone]
> 
> 6th scene:  
> All the direct speech in this scene from the beginning to “No volunteers?” is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
> 
> 9th scene:  
> All the direct speech in this scene from the beginning to “Protego!” is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.


	2. A Glass of Milk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long, unfortunatelly, a life got into my way - I hate when this happens... Hope it won't happen again!
> 
> I should let you know I edited the first chapter a bit. Mostly just changed some words, but in the last scene at the Bill's and Fleur's wedding I realised Harry was using Polyjuice potion in the book. (Totally forgot, shame on me.) So I added this fact to it, but everything else remains the same.

[May The Angels – Alev Lenz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGcUPpzofA4&ab_channel=AlevLenz-Topic)

“Harry! HARRY!” A mix of voices stirred him from sleep which he had fallen to after long motionless hours. “Harry…” Hermione’s and Lupin’s distressed faces appeared above him and one of them broke the paralysis spell.

He was clumsily moving his frozen solid limbs in an attempt to get up, but Hermione hurled her arms around his neck, clasping him tight before he was able to fully come to his senses.

He heard some distant screams interrupted by uncontrollable sobs.

“Hermione,” spoke Lupin, it sounded more like a warning than her name; and she pulled away. “With what memory have you tried to cast a Patronus charm for the first time?”

It took him a few tense seconds before he replied. “Flying on a broomstick.”

Lupin lowered his wand and stretched his hand to help him stand up.

And then Harry could finally look around the battlefield. The haze of the oncoming day softly falling on the ruins of celebration; about a dozen people spread across the place with their wands ready in case the threat would return.

He made just a quick glimpse around until the source of the noise drew his attention.

Apolline Delacour, otherwise a gracious and distinguished lady, was kneeling in the dirt, heartbroken cries tearing out of her throat; her beautiful Veela features resembling a Harpy more than ever before.

Her husband was repeating something in French again and again and again, pressing his younger daughter’s body to his chest… Gabrielle Delacour. Eleven years old.

He was absent-mindedly rocking back and forth, stroking her soft blond hair with frantic moves.

In contrast to this scene, there was Luna near the other side of the smouldering tent. Contrasting, yet in fact the same. She was sitting in absolute silence, holding her father’s hand. In absolute mournful silence…

This is what happens when they tried to forget it for a while… When they tried to suppress that burden in their chests, to pretend it’s not ever-present. When they looked in other directions, maybe even closed their eyes from it.

But then it only found them unprepared.

Because that is what it does.

It violently grabs your hair and makes you see it. Makes you feel it. Pulls you into despair and drowns you in it until it finally allows you to take a single breath. Just enough for you to continue. And then over and over again.

This is what war felt like.

As he was witnessing one of the most dreadful injustices in this world – parents losing a child and a child losing a parent, he needed to ask, even though the words stumbled in his mouth. “Ginny…”

Hermione looked up from the scenery to him, tears glittering on her cheeks. “She’s alive. But… it’s not good, Harry.”

* * *

The door slammed.

He unbuckled his cloak, scrunched it up and flung it with all his might over the room. It landed on his desk, knocking down a lamp which shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Is this what he is going to do? Sabotage their missions?

“Shit.”

His fingers ran up across his face into his blonde hair.

How long would it take for them to figure it out?

With a single flick of the wand, all the books in the library flew out and loudly dropped down on the floor.

“Shit!”

Is there even the slightest chance to survive this war in which both sides are enemies?

He kicked the pile on the floor. Two of the books hit the wall and remained open on damaged pages.

“SHIT!”

Is he really ready to die for revenge? Which may not be even successful, because let’s face it, he doesn’t have any plan!

He kicked it one more time. And then once again, less fiercely.

He halted, panting, trying to repress the incipient panic attack. With his shivering fingers, he felt a bed behind his knees, still hypnotizing the havoc he wreaked, and sat up.

Why did he do that... He shouldn’t have done that.

* * *

Fearing of what might come, Andromeda and Ted Tonks moved a few weeks ago without notifying proper authorities. Their new home was plain, barely equipped with furniture, but large enough with four bedrooms, and most importantly, concealed.

That was where most of them gathered after the wedding.

Slughorn was already back from St Mungo’s, now preparing some potions in the kitchen, the pungent smell expanding through the house.

From now on, the members of the Order and their known supporters couldn’t be roaming wherever they wanted. From now on, they knew they must be hiding.

Horace Slughorn was not a member, neither a known supporter. Therefore, he offered to go for a healer who was willing and daring to help. Until he came back with a scrawny man with flaxen hair clasped in a bun, Ted, as the most talented wizard in healing charms available at the moment, and Molly were taking care of Ginny, keeping her alive.

Ted said he had never seen such a curse before. It was spreading fast, successively attacking all her organs. He healed her lungs, it invaded the heart. He stopped it there, it went to kidneys.

Harry was sitting on a couch since they didn’t let him see her, aware of how useless he was there, yet unable to do anything anyway.

What kind of sadist would use such a spell?

He heard that it takes a huge amount of energy to try to take someone’s life using _Avada Kedavra_. Therefore, Death Eaters weren’t just going through a battlefield hurling killing curses in all directions and had to be more creative if they wanted to harm seriously.

Who could have invented _that_?

Opposite him on the floor leaning against the wall, was Tonks. She looked upset, frowning at the wooden parquet blocks.

Harry heard them arguing over something as he had been passing the corridor.

_“I’m an Auror, Remus! You can’t tell me when-” She was interrupted by Lupin’s reply Harry didn’t catch. “It’s my job and I’m not going to…”_

He hadn’t paid it any attention though and continued walking, lost in thoughts.

People were one by one coming to the living room, joining them in their oppressive silence. And when the Order’s leader finally came, the room was already full.

Kingsley was quiet for several minutes, heavy swollen eyes scanning those present, the corners of his mouth falling lower and lower. “I am very sorry… for what happened last night and that I didn’t warn you earlier…”

“You did everything you could, Kingsley,” said Remus.

“Without you, there would be more victims,” added Charlie bleakly, and the air felt even heavier.

“Tell us what happened at the Ministry,” asked Arthur, his voice low.

“They had the superiority, about thirty of them. Some of the staff even joined them, some fought, but most of them just ran or didn’t do anything…” he paused for a moment. “Of course, they knew where to go, they headed directly to the Level One. I know they tortured Scrimgeour to discover Harry’s location. However, he didn’t tell them, and they killed him. I don’t know how they found out, Harold only rushed to tell me they already know.”

Kingsley looked at Lupin with an unspoken question. Lupin obviously knew where he was aiming and nodded in confirmation.

“Harry, please tell us if you heard or saw anything important after we… left,” finished Lupin insecurely. He already apologized twice, and Harry could hardly be angry.

He heard them but seemed to be unable to speak. People kept dying because of him. Again and again. Scrimgeour died tortured. And it was all his fault they went to the wedding. They came looking for _him_.

“It was incredible luck they didn’t find you, Harry,” said Hermione softly to encourage him.

“They did.”

All the eyes in the room shot to him.

“What do you mea-“

“Malfoy did,” specified Harry and triggered a rush of sceptical questions.

“Malfoy?”

“As… Draco Malfoy?”

“Are you… sure, Harry?”

He felt stupid. It was far from the first time he accused Malfoy of something, and he usually got this kind of reaction. But this time, it was more like the opposite case. What was probably only going to make it less believable.

“He had a mask,” he admitted. “But they called him Malfoy and his voice sounded like him. The Polyjuice potion wasn’t in effect anymore. He put a charm on me and then denied he found me.”

“What charm?” snapped Kingsley.

Harry narrowed his eyes and wrinkled nose to catch the misty memory. “It was something like… _Acondo_?”

“ _Abscondo_?”

“Yes, that’s it!”

“Invisibility charm, it hides anything for a time of a few seconds to a few minutes,” explained Slughorn and it seemed to soothe them a bit. Kingsley remained to frown though.

“Harry, I’m sorry, but we have to check-” he faltered, “if your memory wasn’t somehow manipulated.”

“Or if I’m not under Imperius…” said Harry the unspoken.

“Yes,” he verified carefully. “It’s just for security reasons, nobody suspects you.”

Harry nodded and nervously shifted his glasses to the bridge of his nose.

“I can take care of it,” said Lupin.

“I have a different task for you, Remus. We will discuss it on the way.”

“I may check it if Harry doesn’t mind,” spoke Arthur unexpectedly. He looked pale and tired. Most of them had been through a sleepless night, but Arthur’s face carried all the worries about his only daughter. However, he was aware of the responsibility on his shoulders, there was no time for weeping.

“There should be two people,” said Kingsley. “Tonks?”

She nodded and smiled at Harry in a way that was supposed to assure him it was going to be fine.

“I’ll have a Pensieve sent here.” He stood up and reached Arthur’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Then he walked to the door, Lupin accompanying him, and stopped at the doorframe.

“Andromeda and Ted approved we can hold Order meetings here until we determine the new Headquarters. The next one is tomorrow at 11 AM.”

* * *

“I’ve stolen a book from the library in the fifth year,” said Draco.

Narcissa was inquisitively looking into his grey eyes with extraordinary intensity, wand still aiming in his direction. “That is... true.”

“A lie. It was in the third year,” he shrugged.

“Draco, take this seriously. That is a too small lie, and you know it. Cooperate.”

He took a deep breath. It was hard to concentrate with all those images in front of his eyes.

Potter’s frozen face vanishing under his spell.

He felt the sweat on his forehead same as at the meeting where Voldemort punished with Cruciatus curse Dolohov for the unsuccess of his mission, for not capturing Potter.

Voldemort’s smug face when he had given him his father’s wand. _“Very well, Draco. It wasn’t even that difficult, was it?”_ These words sounded in his head incessantly, deflecting from the walls of his skull as an echo.

As was Narcissa watching her tormented son with face buried in his hands, she laid her hand on his back in a soothing gesture. “I know it is hard right now, but-”

“Hard is making up all the true or false bollocks!” He sharply lifted his head out of his palms and leaned against the chair so that his mother’s hand fell from his shoulder.

“Language, Draco,” she reproved stern and reserved once again.

His eyes met hers. “I apologize, mother...” he sighed.

Narcissa straightened up. “Let’s continue.”

He lowered his face and shut his eyes massaging the bridge of his nose in a bid to make up another statement.

“I’ve never liked Aunt Tabitha.”

She gave him a critical look. “It is too obvious. You were showing that very ostentatiously.”

Draco tossed his hands in frustration. “Then show me what you want from me, ‘cause I really don’t know!”

She sat down, hand on the armrests, eyes hard and impenetrable. “You weren’t wanted.”

“What?”

“Your father and I married only because I got pregnant.”

“A lie,” he snapped.

“I don’t want your suggestions, Draco. Use your abilities.”

He stood up and pointed his wand at his mother. _“Legilimens!”_

“A lie,” he insisted.

“Yes, Draco, it’s a lie.”

He noticeably relaxed. For some strange reason he didn’t understand, it was important for him.

Narcissa opened her mouth to continue but hesitated for a second until she said the next statement. “Sometimes, I do miss Andromeda.”

He snorted. “Oh, I hope this is a lie…” He examined the words and her mind and finally he came to a conclusion. “A lie.”

“This was true.”

“What the hell? After all what she’s done? She blemished the name of the Black family! _Your_ family for Merlin’s sake!”

“You don’t have to remind me, Draco. I know what she has done, and I can assure you it’s unforgivable.” Suddenly, her features softened. “However, she was my sister once. And we were rather close as children.”

He was glowering at her confession. “You liked her more than Bellatrix?”

“The age difference was bigger there. And Bellatrix is… a fanatic. She always had these tendencies. But after twelve years in Azkaban, she lost her mind.”

Draco looked like he was questioning every word she said in his head.

“It is your turn, Draco.”

“This is stupid.”

She exhaled heavily. “We have just each other now… We have to be prepared.”

“Well, this ain’t helping!” he said angrily.

“Maybe if you were trying the results-”

“Let’s just do a casual Occlumency lesson as always,” he nipped in.

“You know he can distinguish a lie from the truth – and much better than me, Draco!”

“Of course, I know, mo-”

“Then stop being selfish and-”

“I AM BEING SELFISH?! You seriously-”

“You obviously can’t see the importance of-”

“Hah. Oh, believe me, mother, I DO!”

“Then let’s continue in the training!”

“Okay, fine!” he threw up his hands furiously. “I’ve never hated him. True or false? You say it’s too obvious, mother? Fine! I’ve never wanted to revenge for what he’s done – true or false? Hm?! Yeah, and my last statement. I’ve definitely never ever saved defenceless Harry Potter’s arse on the last mission putting him under invisibility charm! Happy now?!”

He saw the fright in her look as her hand flew up to her heart.

He needed air. He needed out. Draco stormed out of the secret room leaving his mother behind.

None of them has ever mentioned it again.

* * *

Kingsley came with two other men whose he introduced as “Edgar Kenton and Riley Claiborne, Aurors, they can be trusted.” Tonks apparently knew them both well and greeted them in a way which gave others impression they really could be trusted. Hestia and Arthur obviously met them before, too.

Naturally, he turned first to Arthur.

“The memory doesn’t seem to be changed, Kingsley. It really looks like young Malfoy,” he said immediately.

“Why would he do that?” - “I don’t know…” – “Did he say something?” - “It might be a trap.” The voices hummed.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” stepped in Charlie. “What would they gain from it? We know Harry’s one of their top priorities.”

“Maybe he just wanted to help,” said Luna and the room went quiet. Concerning her age, she wasn’t a member of the Order. Yet she had been through a lot, and there was no one anymore who would oppose her when she said she wanted to _help the Light_ and joined the meeting.

Luna was a fighter, usually in her very own pacifist way. But in the end, it was her who went to help them at the battle at the Ministry.

She was dreaming through her life until this harsh world pulled her down once more. First, she lost her mother, now she became an orphan. She decided to take a shelter of this safe house with her friends. Her only true friends.

“It’s Malfoy, Luna,” grimaced Ron, and the debate livened up again.

“No really, there are not much other reasons, are there?”

Ron was shaking his head in disagreement during the whole Hermione’s objection. “Can I remind you all one more time it’s Malfoy?”

Indifferent to Ron’s comments, Hestia Jones decided to take a side in this discussion: “Maybe we could cooperate, we don’t have anyone on their side-”

“Exactly, Hestia. _On their side_ ,” said Remus.

“No matter what his motives were, he shouldn’t be trusted.”

“But this could be the best opportunity to-” Charlie tried to reason, but their leader’s voice ended the bickering.

“We don’t have time for this, especially when the result is uncertain. Our priority now is to help everyone who might be in danger – muggle-borns and their families, side by side with our people as the resistance.

“Kingsley’s right…”

“Our task now is to find suitable safe houses and put them under Fidelius charms. Every member of the Order and everyone directly connected to it should be safe then.”

“It’s not that easy to cast a Fidelius, Kingsley,” spoke Dedalus Diggle for the first time.

“I’m aware of that. Remus is already working on it.” Just his deep calm voice was usually enough to persuade people he was the man at his place. That he knew exactly what to do. “We have to find locations, divide people, determine secret keepers and most importantly find people capable of casting such a spell.”

“Can you...?”

“I have never done that before,” admitted Kingsley, “therefore, I am studying it and training.”

“ _People_ capable of casting it? You can’t cast all of them?” asked Harry.

“Is it really that hard?” added Fred to the question.

“Fidelius charm is considered as one of the most complicated charms ever created. It’s very old magic… Also, it is not reasonable for a wizard to hold more than one Fidelius charm at the time. That is why, it might take some time, but I want to have secure all the locations in two weeks.”

* * *

The days were passing by.

Eighteen hours later, August – that St Mungo’s healer – informed about Ginny’s state being stable. He managed to reduce the pace of the curse spreading, yet Ginny stayed unconscious and there was no cure in sight.

Four days later, they heard Fleur came out of her room for the first time. She and Bill and Fleur’s family stayed at a different safe house in Cornwall.

The clock announced half past one in the morning. They were sitting in the living room, just the three of them – Harry, Ron and Hermione. It has been a while since they spent time like this.

They were talking for hours about everything that came to their mind, even laughed once or twice, although it didn’t sound the same.

Harry told them about his talk with Elphias Doge about Dumbledore – or rather about Doge’s argument with Aunt Muriel, Rita Seeker’s big fan. Hermione and Ron tried to persuade him that he had known Dumbledore. Better than Skeeter. And that even though he didn’t tell him about his previous life, it didn’t mean so much.

They were talking about Hogwarts and about what they were missing the most. About the Fat Lady’s talks and her ear-piercing singing. About the pumpkin pies Ron had for breakfast almost every morning, about all the evenings in their Common room and about that one talk they had with Dean and Seamus about how would the flames look like if they stoked up Neville’s wand into the fireplace. Poor Neville, they laughed, they missed him, too. Because they knew they won’t come back to Hogwarts this time, none of them.

Harry was playing with the R.A.B. Slytherin’s locket in his fingers. The locket which very well symbolised how far they were from ending all these dreadful times. The fake locket with a message signed by initials of unknown meaning, taking them even farther from their goal.

“We should leave soon,” said Hermione and broke the silence. This thought was hanging above them for some time now, but no one wanted to say it out loud.

“We can’t leave now.”

“We don’t even know where to go, Hermione,” objected Harry.

“But we should. We won’t find any Horcruxes on the way from the living room to the kitchen. We’ve been talking about this almost a month ago and all of us agreed. And since then nothing has changed.”

“ _Nothing has changed?_ ” snapped Ron out of thin air.

“I meant in searching-”

“You’re asking me to leave my family _now_?”

She paused looking for words. “I know it is hard, but-”

“No, you don’t, Hermione, Ginny’s not your sister, you’re an only child, nor your girlfriend-”

“But she’s still my friend, Ron!” defied Hermione shocked. “We can’t help here. Our task is to find horcruxes as Dumbledore wanted.”

“Well, it’s my task, so-”

“You think this war isn’t affecting all of us, Harry?”

“I didn’t say-”

“I know there is too much on your shoulders, but that’s why we are here! That’s why I thought that after all the things that happened it’s evident we’re in it together.” The tears welled up in her eyes. “People are dying every day. And the more we wait…” She fell silent, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“Hermione,” started Ron but didn’t know how to continue. He realised he was unfair. In this house there was no one he could blame, and as always, Hermione, as the voice of reason, was right. They should leave.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” stepped in Harry before Ron could speak. “I know you’re right, just… give us some time.”

The thing was, they didn’t have time.

* * *

She couldn’t sleep tonight.

Her thoughts were drawn to the inevitable and to the bitter end of their conversation.

She was ready to leave by any minute, she had everything prepared and packed for a few weeks. Yet they were still here, waiting for another horrible thing to happen, for them to be found, for someone else to be killed.

She looked at Luna, calmly sleeping in the bed, light hair shining through the night. She was sleeping a lot since the wedding. Or maybe she wasn’t sleeping, maybe she just didn’t want to leave her bed so often.

However, Hermione was sick of lying in bed staring at the ceiling, drowning in thoughts. She decided to go downstairs to have something for a drink, so she could escape these four walls for a while. She felt like having a milk; her mother had always given her milk when she didn’t want to go to sleep as a child. The power of placebo is great, no matter how old you are.

Hermione quietly sneaked to the kitchen, careful not to wake up anyone and poured herself a glass of milk. A half gulp in, she heard a strange rummaging noise.

She swiftly drew up a wand and wiped her mouth, heading to the hallway, to the source of the sounds. The door of the closet was open, blocking her view.

Then a round head with protruding ears peeped from behind.

“Dobby!” she gasped startled.

“Hello, miss,” the elf greeted joyfully.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dobby is helping. Harry Potter’s friends must hide, but _they_ don’t look at house-elves,” he whispered cryptically. “Dobby said he can help. So Dobby brought the things they sent him for.”

Hermione realised how powerful ally house-elves could be in this war.

“Dobby can help,” he murmured proudly.

It’s not like they were invisible. They were so inferior to the “traditional” pureblood families, which simply didn’t care about them until they didn’t need anything from them.

Nobody suspects a house-elf could have his own opinion, let alone act against a wizard.

And besides that, house-elves were powerful magical creatures, although their magic was quite undiscovered. Even some charms and wards of wizards didn’t apply to them, such as anti-Apparition charm.

The problem was, they wouldn’t be an ally, more likely a weapon. They wouldn’t fight because they were deeply convinced it is the right thing to do, because they believed in it. They would fight because their masters told them to.

Nonetheless, Dobby was here from his own initiative. Probably the most extraordinary house-elf alive. Dobby longed for his freedom and now he came here to help because he wanted to. He had his own will.

“Dobby?”

Still, she felt terrible about the thing she was going to say. Would it be using him?

“Yes, miss?”

“I… There is something you could help with, but it might be more dangerous-”

“Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter’s friend!”

“No, Dobby,” she said. “I want you to think about it and decline if you don’t want to do it, okay?”

Two huge green eyes were goggling at her in a complete confusion. This was probably a too distant concept even for him.

“I would need you to help me find someone.”

And this is how it started. With a glass of milk. If she didn’t go downstairs, everything would have gone differently.

Isn’t life sometimes funny? A glass of milk, seriously…

* * *

She mumbled something incoherent and stirred in her bed.

“Miss. Miss.” Something was poking her arm. “Miss!” Hermione opened her eyes and shrank back at bulging eyes a few inches from her face. “Dobby is sorry to wake miss up.”

“Dobby? What are you…” She scanned the room to find out everyone else was sleeping.

“Dobby found him, miss!”

Hermione needed to process this information for a second and after she got the meaning of the information, she quickly sat up. “Where is he?”

“At the Three Broomsticks inn.”

“What is he doing at-”

“Doby stunned him… And took there.” The house-elf smiled guiltily showing a long row of teeth, looking at his toes.

“Oh. Great, Dobby. Good job. Really,” she stuttered surprised. “Can you take me there?”

* * *

Suddenly he became aware of his own breathing. His eyes were shut for some reason. He tried to open them, but they weren’t prepared for the light yet. Therefore, he tried to rub them, unsuccessfully, he didn’t pay attention to it though. A sharp pain shot through his stiff neck as he raised his head.

“Sssshit…” he hissed to suppress a dull headache, drew more air into his lungs and exhaled heavily.

“Hello Malfoy.”

He replied with a faint grunting sound squinting at the blurred edges of this reality.

“Where am…” It took him a while until he understood the situation he found himself in. He couldn’t rub his eyes because his wrists were tied to a chair behind his back. She sat opposite him. Brown eyes giving him a disdainful look, lips drawn into a thin line. “What the-”

“I guess it’s evident I won’t tell you where you are,” she said.

While she was watching him regaining full consciousness, she was weighing her next words carefully. His confused face was transforming into an enraged one, dark eyes under puckered eyebrows looking daggers at her.

“What do you want?!”

“To talk.”

He looked at her in a way that made her feel as if she were the most disgusting thing that had ever stuck to his shoe sole. Nothing had changed. Except for the fact that he was not only that rich haughty bastard anymore, but also had tried to kill Dumbledore, he had let the Death Eaters to Hogwarts, _he_ was a Death Eater... How can she be sitting here with him? Merlin’s sake, she loathed him!

Hermione blinked, closing her eyes for a bit longer than necessary, and sighed. “Why did you save Harry at the wedding?”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

Alright, she expected this not being so easy.

“Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding,” she explained slowly as if he were mentally deficient. “1st of August. Have you been there?”

“Let me out or-“

“Or what? You’re tied up, your wand is here,” she grabbed his wand from the table playing with it with her fingers. “So what exactly are you going to do?”

“Let. Me. Out.”

She derisively chuckled in disbelief. “Do you really think it would be worth the effort of finding you and dragging you here if I just-“

“LET ME OUT!” He fiercely fought with the ropes.

“Malfoy-“

“What do you fucking want?!” The chair creaked at his attempts to move his ankles bounded to the chair legs.

“Answers.”

Like with a snap of fingers, he calmed down and slowly returned his look to her, scornful and disgusted.

“Malfoy. I’m still trying to communicate with you in the nice way. If you cooperate, it may even not take so long.”

“Piss off.” A spit landed an inch from her shoe.

She looked down at it, then back at him for a second, and turned away her eyes to a door handle, hypnotizing it distantly with some emotion between an effort to calm down and considering next steps.

Well, it wasn’t going well, however, she couldn’t say she expected otherwise. In the worst-case scenario, they just captured one of the enemies. Anyway, now she must make the most of it.

“Oh, I really hoped this wouldn’t be necessary…” She stood up reaching her pocket, grabbed something small in her fist and then made several steps towards him.

“What wouldn’t be-”

“ _Petrificus totalus_.”

It was a vial. A tiny one with very little liquid on its bottom. She waved her wand, and the content flew out making its way through his half open mouth.

Another wave and the petrifying spell on Draco ceased. He coughed as the fluid trickled down his throat. “You filthy bitch! What was that potion?!”

“Just a few seconds, you’ll find out yourself…” she murmured looking at her watch.

“WHAT WAS THAT FUCKING POTION?!” he panicked.

Even when he shouted, she didn’t turn her eyes away from her wrist. How long can it take to the big hand to make its way around the dial?

“Alright, let’s see.” She took the chair, trying to look as much comfortable in this situation as she could; not very convincing but it probably didn’t matter. “Did it hurt when I punched you four years ago?”

“Physically not much, but no one has ever hit me before,” he blurted out immediately.

They kept the silent eye contact for a few seconds, both genuinely surprised at the answer.

“Good,” she smiled with childish satisfaction. Maybe it wasn’t completely lost, this was changing the game.

His features hardened with the realization. “I fucking hate you.”

“Yes, I guess that is also true, Malfoy…”

“Wait till I’m uncuffed, you fu-”

“What will you do then?”

“Haven’t thought this through yet, I am just threatening you because I’m furious, but I would probably consider a physical attack,” he riposted.

Very well, she was in a better position and she could not let him think anything else. “To the point. Did you save Harry at the wedding? Did you put an invisibility charm on him so Death Eaters wouldn’t find him?”

He was trying to bite his tongue and keep the mouth shut. The problem with veritaserums was that not only you cannot lie, but it also forces you to say the truth. To answer when you are directly asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill or harm anyone else there?”

“No.”

“Intentionally avoiding it?”

“Yes.”

Now it felt a bit easier for her to speak with him. He might be a horrible person, but he was no murderer, apparently.

“Ask me one more thing, Mudblood, and I promise-”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, but asking questions happens to be the reason why we’re here. Why did you save Harry?” she continued with the questioning before he could interrupt her.

“Because of the prophecy.”

Well, she didn’t expect this. But what did she expect, honestly? “You believe it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“ _He_ apparently does believe it. In that moment, I decided not to lower the chances – just in case.”

“… The chances we will win?” she said.

“The chances he will lose.”

“Why do you want you-know-who to lose?”

“He fucked up my life, disgraced our family… But above all, he murdered my father.”

Fortunately, she stopped in time before she could automatically say she was sorry. Because the ugly truth was that she wasn’t. Lucius Malfoy was an awful man who willingly – at least at the first war – supported Voldemort, tried to reopen the Secret Chamber, and that was just the beginning.

“Why did he kill him?”

“Because I wasn’t able to kill Dumbledore. “

“So, you want to revenge?”

“Yes.”

She was thinking of the contrast between how he looked at her and what he was saying. Maybe he had a Mark, but he didn’t seem to be a Death Eater.

“What. Do you. Want from me.” He articulated very slowly, threatening.

“I’m getting there,” she said disturbed from her thoughts. “How good are you at Occlumency? Would you be able to hide your thoughts from you-know-who?”

“So-so. It works so far.”

Probably the very first time a hint of self-reflection found a way out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth, she thought.

“I want you to help us by sharing information you get.”

He snorted. “This is a joke. Why would I debase myself to do that.” It wasn’t a question, he won’t do it.

“Because of the immunity.”

Lifted eyebrows was the only answer she got.

“What will you do after the war, Malfoy? If you help us now, we will help you afterwards.”

From the very beginning, she knew she must aim at the Slytherin typical self-preservation instinct.

“What do you mean _help?_ ”

“Think ahead, Malfoy. What do you think that will happen? You will be tried as a Death Eater and probably sent to Azkaban for the rest of your life. Last time even more innocent wizards than you are got this sentence and no one blinked an eye nor really bothered with proofs.”

“Presuming that your side wins and I get alive from the war,” he grumbled.

“I think you wouldn’t go against him if there wasn’t a tinniest hope in you, would you?” This time he didn’t even lift the eyebrows, so she continued. “If you keep us informed about his actions, we will get you out of this.”

This was the only thing she could offer and the only thing he might want from them. A life after the war. Although he still didn’t seem to be very convinced.

“Not just you, your mother, too.” She had his full attention. “As long as she doesn’t kill, seriously harm anyone nor otherwise significantly help Voldemort.”

He slightly flinched at her pronouncing that name.

The seconds and minutes ticked without a response.

“Would you still attack me if I let you go?” she asked.

“No.” Was it only her feeling that this answer took him a bit longer?

She was nervously biting her bottom lip and he knew exactly what she was thinking of. “Is the potion still in effect?”

“Yes,” he smirked unconvincingly.

She cleared her throat. “Okay then, think it through. Otherwise, I have plenty of time.” At these words, her glance directed to the books on the desk. “But you might be missed quite soon by your… _colleagues_.”

After a while, she opened a book and then, with an unfeigned interest, immersed herself in it, sometimes flipping the pages back and forward as if she was examining something or comparing information.

Is she really reading the Tales of Beedley the Bard? What a wack.

“How can I know you’re telling me truth, hm? That you’re not just trying to dispose of me.”

“By making you a spy?” She smiled at the thought that the offer was apparently resonating in his head. “I believe there would be much easier and more pleasant ways to do that than having this conversation.”

He fell silent once more, so she continued. “You probably have to believe that winning this war has a higher priority for me than school disputes with some… with you.” She swallowed the insult playing on her tongue.

In another four minutes or so, he interrupted her in her reading again. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Can’t you just fucking answer for once, too, Granger?”

Hermione hesitated if she should reveal the truth or not, considering if it might jeopardize anyone. “Dobby.”

“Who?”

“Your former hou-”

“I meant anyone _human_ obviously,” he nipped in, looking at her like she was completely stupid but then halted. “That’s how you’ve found me? A house-elf?”

 _This_ was exactly why it had worked out. This haughtiness and ignorance.

“The Death Eaters are not really trying to hide since the Ministry had fallen,” she said.

“Where are the other two retards, by the way? I thought you are connected by the umbilical cord.”

“None of your business.”

“No, I’m curious, Granger. Don’t try to tell me they don’t know you’re here. Did they leave you behind? Even those two imbeciles realized how dull you are? Or maybe this is your solo action?”

It hurt a bit more than it should regarding from whose mouth these words came. “If they did know, they would be here enjoying the interrogation much more than I did.”

“Whatever. No one will know. I won’t risk my ass when there’s a horde of suicidal idiots knowing.”

“Okay,” she nodded carefully, although she felt terrible for not telling at least Harry and Ron; there were no secrets among them. She planned to tell them, but it all happened too fast. “I can respect that. But then don’t be surprised when some of our people send some nasty curse in your face if they meet you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Lots of even more skilled wizards said that.”

“Mind your fucking business, Granger,” he rapped out to show her her place. “Will you untie me finally or what are you waiting for?”

“Does it mean you are accepting the deal?”

“Yes.”

Hesitation held up her wand for a moment, but then she stood up and let the ropes fell to the ground. It seemed she could trust him in some basic facets.

He stretched his shoulders, rubbed red-tinged wrists until he shot a burning glare at her. In a wink, he was on his feet, and overconfidently aimed in her direction.

Hermione instinctively stepped back against the wall, clutching her wand.

And then, when he was unpleasantly close to her, blocking her to move, he simply grabbed his wand from the table.

“You know Veritaserums are illegal for a reason?” he hissed.

Of course she knew. Veritaserums are incredibly hard to make, it takes months to prepare them and every little mistake might have terrible consequences. Therefore, their usage was made illegal about forty years ago. However, the magical law only forbade using them, not making.

“It was from Snape’s cabinet,” she admitted her theft, blushing.

“Wow, Snape’s production, that’s fucking calming.”

“Worse things happen in this war,” she said.

“You do anything like this one more time and all this alliance shit is over, understood?”

He noticed how uncomfortable she was in this situation, her eyes roving around distracted by his nearness, and derisively snorted. “Don’t you worry, mudblood, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten feet broomstick.”

It felt ages until he moved back out of her personal space, but back to business.

“Let’s use this for contact.” She drew a small roll of parchment bounded by a thin red ribbon from her purse.

“When there is a message it unfolds itself. But it appears as some innocent potion recipe until you say the password, which is _Bundimun_ and the number of fingers touching the parchment at the moment. So now it would be _Bundimun Five_. It might prevent someone overhearing the password and getting the-”

“I get it.”

“For the writer, the message disappears immediately, for the receiver, after five seconds from the moment he sees it.” She handed him the scroll. “If it’s necessary or the message would be too complex for this, we can meet in person, in that case just write a time and place to meet.”

“Fine.”

“Ginny was hit by a curse,” she started. “It makes her organs failure, healing them helps only temporarily, the flash from the light was red. Do you know who casted it and how to cure it?”

“No.”

“You don’t?” she doubted sourly.

“I’ve never heard of it, Granger.”

“Okay. If you find out, let me know… So, is there anything you can already tell me? Some information.”

“Thicknesse is under Imperius curse.”

“Yes, we know that…”

“Burbage’s dead.”

“What?” she breathed.

Professor Charity Burbage was an unusual and joyful woman. Unlike vast majority of wizards, she had a television and she loved to discuss it with Hermione or any other muggle-born or simply just anyone willing to listen. She was fascinated by the most ordinary things as a nail file, insect repellent or a lawn mower. Hermione attended her classes at Hogwarts to understand better wizards’ point of view and even though there wasn’t much new information for her, she enjoyed it.

They knew about her alleged resignation and that she went missing afterwards. But they didn’t know she was… dead.

“What if they catch you?” Draco continued indifferent to her grief.

She inconspicuously wiped her eyes and shoved the thought about her professor’s death to the corner of her mind. “They won’t.”

“Lots of even more skilled witches said that, and I’m not gonna die for it.”

“Alright, if they do, I guess you would find out. In that case, you can kill me.” She said it in a tone people usually discuss the draw between Montrose Magpies and Holyhead Harpies in 1978. “I don’t know what more I can say to this. Besides that, there is more information I can’t afford them to know.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to react, because, indeed, there wasn’t anything more that could be done in such situation, there was no solution.

“Any more questions?” asked Hermione.

“How can I know you’ll keep the promise?”

She frowned and very reluctantly replied: “I guess we will have to trust each other.”

“Would you take an unbreakable vow?”

A shock took over her features. Even such an honest and upright person as Hermione wasn’t obliging to do so; unbreakable vow wasn’t a thing that should be trifled with. She was searching words, until she found them.

“We don’t have the third party.” He didn’t seem to understand immediately, so she added, more confident: “There must be a bonding agent for an unbreakable vow.”

“Hmf. Fucking convenient, isn’t it?” He turned around to take a few steps to the center of the room and kicked the leg of chair he had been tied to.

“We can make a blood pact.”

The roles switched and it was him who was caught off this time.

“What, are you afraid of my blood?” she sneered.

“It’s not fear, Granger. Just the thought of mixing my blood with… _yours,”_ he looked her up and down, “makes me physically sick.”

 _He_ made her physically sick. “Alright, if you don’t have any other idea – because I don’t – I guess you will have to trust me with this.”

Needless to say, he found that idea as much unappealing as the previous one. He wasn’t a type of person that would risk his life for nothing. There was no doubt she will not keep it. The war ends, she will be glorified for her _contribution to peace_ as a Potter’s good pet and nobody will want to make long process with Death Eaters.

Bellatrix’s insane laughter flashed through his mind. In his opinion, his Aunt was a personification of what Azkaban did to people. Living imprisoned in such place was even much worse than the current situation – already so horrible.

“Fuck.”

Draco’s wand gently ran over his palm, crimson droplets emerging on the line.

“When the war ends, you will testify in my and my mother’s favor,” he said approaching her. Her widened eyes fixed on him, unable to name what just happened.

“You will do your best to keep us out of Azkaban.”

Still astounded, she copied his process and flinched at the pain as the blood began to fall on the floor.

“I will testify in your and your mother’s favor,” she repeated. “I will do my utmost to help you and make you both free.”

“Fine,” he whispered, now only a step from her.

“You will inform me about Voldemort’s actions and plans in advance, conscientiously, to the best of your knowledge and belief.”

“I will.”

“You will not kill nor seriously harm anyone on our side.”

“I will not.”

„The same applies to your mother, otherwise I am not obliged to help her.”

„Yes,” he said with gritted teeth. “You won’t say anyone a word about me.”

“I will not.”

Their hands joined in a firm handshake and the room got lost in a strange tingling feeling. Two drops of blood rose in the air, circling around each other, speeding up, until they merged. The space around it started to glisten as a glass phial formed around it.

Draco swiftly dropped her hand and seized the vial.

“I will keep this,” he said, putting it to his pocket, and thoroughly wiped his hand to his trousers, dark enough to hide the blood stains.

“I don’t trust you a word, Granger,” he said and Disapparated.


End file.
